


Honor Amongst Thieves

by AeantizLKamenwati



Series: Fen'Harel Enansal [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dragon Age Headcanons, Drug Addiction, Explicit Language, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Minor Original Character(s), Prequel type thing, Thievery, Warlock of the Wilds AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:37:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6843256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeantizLKamenwati/pseuds/AeantizLKamenwati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Go to Kirkwall, his brother said, find Anders; it'll be easy he said.</p><p>Nothing was ever easy for Tarasyl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honor Amongst Thieves

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of what happened in Kirkwall kind of thing, since Tarasyl's story spans across the entire series, I wanted to do it all as I go. You'll find some chapters are also in Thick of Thieves. Working on the story that comes before this one: Wolf in Thief's Clothing, which happens during the Blight.
> 
> I own nothing of Thedas but the headcanons (based somewhat on evidence in the games, books, and movies and partly on real life) and my original characters. Any and all dialogue from the games belong to BioWare while I own my own wit.

Just a few more coins, Taliesin thought to himself. Then he’d have enough to fund the Tethras’s expedition. Hard to believe a year ago he was a refugee having to smuggle himself into the city of chains with the help of a mercenary company. 

A sigh left his lips as he looked around Gamlen’s hovel. A few more coins, and maybe he’d be able to get a better house for Leandra. After the Hawkes took him in, he felt like he needed to repay that kindness. After all, it takes a special kind of person to take in a fable from the swamps, even if that fable was only an eight year old. 

Whether by the grace of the Maker or some other coincidence, Taliesin looked enough like Malcom to be considered his son, and the family moved around a lot, so no one knew any different. Even Carver and Bethany thought of him as their older brother growing up. 

Taliesin rubbed the back of his neck. He missed Bethany a lot. Mother always taught them that death wasn’t an end, but this one did. 

Speaking of his real mother, he frowned at the amulet on his stand. He supposed if he was going to be leaving for the Deep Roads and the old crone had helped them get to Gwaren, he might as well go do her errand. Whatever the hell it was. 

He grabbed Malcom’s staff and headed out the door. His mabari, Morgan, leapt up at the sound of his boots. “No, boy, I’m just going to go to the market to get a few things.” 

“For what?” Carver asked suspiciously. Taliesin rolled his golden eyes. 

“I got to take…” He paused, eyes flicking to Leandra. He knew his real mother, but Leandra felt more like what a mother should be. Sure he still loved the crazy old bat in some sick and twisted part of his heart, but the Hawkes were his family. “That crazy old witch’s amulet up to Sundermount, so I need a few things.” He shrugged. 

“Oh, well then, I’m coming along.” When it was obvious, Taliesin was going to argue, Carver glared. “I was there too, you know.” 

“Ugh, fine!” He had no energy to try and convince the young warrior not to come. The last thing he wanted to have was an awkward family reunion, which was what was going to happen. He looked too much like his mother to not be found out. “Get your shi—“ Leandra glared at him from where she was making food, “stuff and meet me by the gates in an hour.” 

Sometimes, Taliesin missed having Morrigan around; she was at least less whiney. But he could see where Carver was coming from. After all, Taliesin had run away because he was always in his twin’s shadow. And constantly reminded his mother didn’t like men, nor did she ever want a boy and blah blah. 

He sighed as he went out the door to gather the team. 

***** 

Getting into the camp was simple. He was taught how to properly greet a Dalish and not get stuck with an arrow. It was strange but he knew far more about Elven culture than human culture growing up. Of course, living outside of the Wilds helped remedy that and he forgot a lot of things, but he still remembered the basics. 

Even that didn’t prepare him for Merrill. He knew some Dalish were…sheltered, skittish, but she was a whole other kind of crazy. A cute crazy, like his mabari when he was still a puppy, but still crazy. And he also instantly regretted taking Fenris and Carver. Fenris was jumpy enough as it was, but throw in a blood mage and Taliesin thought he was going to have to use his own blood magic to prevent a massacre. 

Not that he’d ever tell that to the white haired elf. Fenris didn’t like him for being a mage, and Taliesin could respect that. Just no need to throw in the shapeshifting and blood magic to make it worse. The elf was highly attractive and Taliesin liked his insides where they should be. 

After they had finished cleaning up the graveyard, Merrill placed the amulet on an altar to Mythal and spoke some elvish. It sounded familiar to him, but he was too busy shielding his eyes from the whirlwind. 

The winds died down. Taliesin was almost afraid to open his eyes. Then he hear a familiar snort. “At least you hold up you’re end of a bargain. I half expected my amulet to end up in a merchant’s pocket.” 

Taliesin lowered his arms to frown at his mother. “Yeah, well, I tried, but no one wanted to take it. Maybe because it had a batty old witch inside.” 

Flemeth chortled. “Just a piece, but that was all I needed in case the inevitable were to occur. And knowing your sister, it already has.” 

“Morrigan? What the hell could Morrigan do to you?” Taliesin scoffed with a cocked eyebrow. Carver glanced between the two of them. He leaned closer to his brother. 

“You know her?” he asked. Well, now’s as good a time as any. 

“Yeah, meet the womb that birthed me,” Taliesin gestured to Flemeth, “Morrigan’s my twin sister. And you didn’t answer my question, Mother, since when would Morrigan do anything to you?” 

Carver looked like he had been slapped and Merrill was equally shocked. “Y-you’re the son of Asha’Bellanar?” She stuttered. She nearly bowed before Taliesin grabbed her by the shoulders. 

“No, no bowing that’s weird.” He told her. “And yeah, sure. I could also be called a Warlock of the Wilds, but all those titles ring a bit false, eh?” 

“So…the Hawkes…” 

“Adopted me yes.” Taliesin growled to the sky. “Anyway, Mother, suppose it’s not my business on what you and Morrigan do to each other. My end is fulfilled, so bye; hope you don’t croak on your way back to Ferelden.” 

Flemeth narrowed her eyes at him, “I taught you better manners than this, boy.” 

He snorted like his mother often did. “Yeah, let me tell you, you really taught me manners isolated in a swamp.” He rolled his eyes as she looked about ready to backhand him. He was sure he looked far different than he had at eight. For one he had grown stubble on his chin and was a lot taller and less lanky. But he was still a little boy to her, he was sure. “Fine, Mother, is there anything else unreasonable and suspicious you’d like me to do?” 

“Innocence no longer suits you, dear.” Flemeth scoffed, “But I suppose it’s for the best.” She paused before deciding something. “Let me leave you with some advice, child. We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.” 

“Yeah that’s not ominous and prophetic.” He rolled his eyes. Sure, he could turn into a bird and fly, but he doubted that’s what she meant. Flemeth laughed as she turned away, “You do best to remember my words, boy, or didn’t I teach you that mothers are always right?” And with that she turned into a dragon and flew off. 

“Crazy old bat.” Taliesin grumbled under his breath. But in his heart, he felt a weird off-ness, like he knew something bad was going to happen. And his mother didn’t teach him a lot, but she did teach him that those kind of instincts almost always were right. 

*****Later that day***** 

Tarasyl scanned the marketplace for easy targets. It was starting to fill up with the afternoon rush. Much easier to pickpocket someone in large crowds. More people meant more suspects and the easier it was to get away. 

He was just fifty silvers shy of being able to stay at an inn rather than whore himself out to get a room at the Blooming Rose for a few weeks. He didn’t know how long he was going to be here after all. 

Suddenly, Tarasyl’s eyes focused on someone out of place in Hightown. He looked to be a mercenary crossed with a Circle Mage. Short black hair fell into his golden eyes. There was something familiar about him, yet the elf couldn’t place it. Still, he could see the rather large coin purse dangling on his belt. Plus the dwarf with the crossbow seemed to be a merchant of some kind maybe, but his coinpurse would be far too low for a simple fishing job. The two elves definitely wouldn’t have any money. So the human it was. 

Without much thought to a plan (he’d end up screwing up the plan anyway so might as well wing it), Tarasyl pushed off his wall and waded into the crowd. His hood covered most of his face in shadow, and thanks to his height, no one really noticed him. He was just some lanky teenager probably to them. 

As he got closer, he could hear the four talking about something involving the Deep Roads. Involuntary, Tarasyl shivered. He remembered those damn things and their fucking Broodmothers and damn shrieks. He could even remember the smell of decaying flesh that came off the things. He’d be a happy elf if he never had to see another darkspawn in his life. 

Recovering himself, Tarasyl edged forward, pretending to look at some wares on a merchant’s stand. From the corner of his eye, he could see the human coming closer. He was looking at some weapons it looked like. That wasn’t a good thing. 

The closer to weapons he was, the more likely Tarasyl was to being stabbed. But…It was right there… And the man’s companions were all paying attention to something that wasn’t the human… 

The thief bit his lip, thinking. He even began his nervous habit of playing with his earrings. Especially the long one made from a halla horn that he had carved into three separate pieces strung together ending in the tip. The griffon cuff on the other ear didn’t get messed with usually. 

Fuck it, he thought. He gathered all his tact and grace. He pretended to have found nothing and moved on to the next stall, the one with the human. Carefully covering his accent, he spoke to the human. “I wouldn’t chose that one if I were you.” He made sure to smile calmly as the man turned to him and the merchant glared. 

“And why is that?” the mage asked. He sounded Ferelden. 

Tarasyl’s expert eyes quickly found a fault in the making of the sword. “See that little line there?” He pointed to it. “That tells me this sword was broken before, so it’s been used. Whoever got it afterwards sharpened the edge down too thin and, the metal looks brittle where it was reforged.” He shrugged nonchalantly. 

“You have good eyes.” He commented as he put the sword back. 

“If you could tell that to my master I’d be happy.” 

“You’re an apprentice blacksmith then?” 

“Of a sorts.” Then Tarasyl pretended to look closely at the human. “You don’t sound like a Marcher…” He glanced at the companions once, making sure they were still preoccupied. The dwarf seemed to be talking to another merchant and the elves were arguing about something. Using the noise of the marketplace, Tarasyl stepped closer, straining his ear for better effect. “Sorry can’t hear too good anymore.” 

The human sighed loudly like this was something he got often. “No, I’m from…Ferelden actually…” The man looked to be bracing himself for an insult or something. Very quickly and very deftly, Tarasyl untied the coinpurse from the man’s belt. 

“Ah that’s why you sound familiar.” Tarasyl laughed. “I was just in Ferelden myself till about a month ago.” 

“Whoa, wait you were there during the Blight?” The dwarf asked. 

“Yeah, I was. Met the Hero of Ferelden too once.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Lots of people there still. More of us wanted out, but not enough boats, count yourself lucky.” 

“Yeah…lucky.” The human mumbled. 

Tarasyl took that awkward answer as his excuse to leave. “Well I hope you find a weapon, serah. But I’d try a different vendor.” Tarasyl began to turn away. “That one seems a bit out of your price range…” He mumbled as he slipped into the crowd. 

The dwarf watched the man suspiciously. He was definitely up to something but what? 

“Well that was…odd.” Hawke mumbled as he looked down on his friend. As Varric turned his attention to him, he noticed very quickly that Hawke’s belt was missing something very important. 

“I think we just got pocketed.” Varric grumbled. Hawke’s hands immediately went to his coin pouch only to find it missing. “I’ll admit, he’s good.” 

“Son of a bleeding bronto’s ass.” The human growled. He was really getting tired of being pickpocketed. He tried to see over all the crowd, searching for that hood. He just barely caught a glimpse of it heading out of Hightown and back into Lowtown. “Come on.” 

“Wow Hawke, you must have a sign that says ‘easy target’ on your forehead or something,” The dwarf chuckled as they headed down to Lowtown. 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up dwarf. I still remember that you paid that guy to pickpocket me.” 

The dwarf winced. Dammit he really hoped the mage had forgotten about that. “Do you see him?” he didn’t have a good view from his height. It was the middle of the day and the market square was packed. Today of all days, it had to be packed. 

Fenris and Merrill were quiet as they helped scan, though they had no idea who they were looking for. 

“There!” Hawke shouted, pointing to a single black hood pushing through the crowd. The person looked over his shoulder before beginning to run. “Hey get back here!” 

Tarasyl’s heart beat a thousand times a minute as he pushed through people. Many were disgruntled but he’d rather keep his hide than care about them and their feelings. If he could get to Darktown, he could lose them, maybe slip into one of the passages ways underneath and make it to the docks… 

His feet hit the ground hard, tiny rocks biting into the pads of them. But he still ran, jumping over railings to skip stairs, ducking under people’s arms, and spinning when he was about to collide with someone. He saw the stairs going down into the underbelly of the city ahead. He could have cried with joy. 

He didn’t see, however, a particular elven warrior coming up on his side. Though he did notice when said warrior blindsided him and pressed him against a wall by his throat. For a moment Tarasyl’s mind spun. He could barely comprehend that he had been hit, let alone that a clawed hand was now wrapping around his windpipe. He could barely breathe. His head became lighter and lighter as he tried to suck in air. Then his marks started to burn. Like they were on fire. That snapped him out of his daze. 

He felt a surge go through his muscles, spasms rippling. His heart skipped a few times as the hum became far louder. There was another hum over his skin that pulsed out-of-sync with his. It irritated his. Made it hurt more. Thousands of needles stabbed along his marks as they gave off their purplish glow. 

The warrior’s eyes widened slightly as Tarasyl phased out of his grip. When he was clear, Tarasyl started gasping for breath, holding his throat. He just stood there and glared for a moment. What the fuck was that? 

That was when he noticed the white markings in the other elf’s dark skin. The two just stared at each other in a mix of disbelief, pity, and sheer hatred. In the meantime, Tarasyl’s brands kept flaring, flickering him in and out of tangibility. And the thief was also surrounded. 

“What the…” Came Hawke’s voice, startling Tarasyl. He jumped, and spun to protect his back as the man stared bewildered. It was like seeing a spirit trying to manifest in the real world. The human looked over to Fenris. “Did your marks…rub off or something?” 

Fenris snorted. “They are branded into my skin, Hawke. They couldn’t rub off even if I tried.” 

“I tried to cut them out once, I don’t recommend it,” Tarasyl quipped. Even he knew when the jig was up. Either he surrendered the purse now, or he’d be dragged to the Kirkwall jail. And that was the last place he wanted to be. With a frown he straightened. 

“Wait…I know that voice…” The other elf stepped forward. She was sweet and innocent looking, so Tarasyl didn’t bother to do anything as she came closer. Plus his brands were on fire as he coaxed the hum back inside. Slowly he became solid again, still glowy, but he didn’t cause them a headache at least. 

“Careful, Daisy, we don’t know what else he can do besides flicker.” The dwarf warned. 

The elf paid him no mind as she brushed his hood back. A gasp left her mouth. “Tarasyl?” Then her green eyes lit up and she hugged him. He hissed loudly, feeling pressure on his sensitive marks. It was like touching a fresh burn or rubbing alcohol into a wound. She jumped back. “Oh I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? Fenris didn’t hurt you, did he?” 

Tarasyl took a long look at her face, bending down to study it. He could vaguely remember someone similar but without vallaslin. “Mana…Merrill? Little baby Merrill?” He mumbled. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Hawke interrupted. “You two know each other?” He looked between the two elves. So not only was there another lyrium elf, but the other lyrium elf knew Merrill, so he was Dalish, so what the hell was he doing in Kirkwall? More importantly, why did he have the lyrium in the first place? 

“Of course, we do. He’s Mahariel’s older brother.” She grinned. 

“Half-brother. I only have to claim half of him, thank you.” Tarasyl mumbled bitterly. They all stood dumbfounded. The Warden’s older brother was a lowly thief? A rather terrible on at that. “So why are you here with the shemlen, Merrill?” 

“I…” She looked down like she had something troubling her. “I could ask the same, Tara.” 

The elf groaned at the childish nickname. “Seriously? Renassan kept calling me that all through the Blight.” He rolled his pale eyes. “I just about had to kill him and Zev.” Merrill giggled, which ate away his annoyance. “How is he?” She asked quietly. 

He had to wince. _Dying_ was his first answer. But his Clan sent him away to save him. Tarasyl didn’t have the heart to tell them they just condemned him to a albeit longer lifespan than before, but it was still short. “Well, he’s…pretty much the same little idiot as before. Only now he’s got a fancy title that allows him to do stupid shit.” 

“That’s good.” Merrill still looked sad, but she suddenly realized what she said. “Not good that he’s being an idiot, but that he’s still the same. Though that’s kind of the same thing isn’t it?” 

“He misses you guys, by the way.” Tarasyl interrupted. She brightened a tad at that. “Anyway, here’s your fucking money back.” He tossed the coin purse. “It wasn’t as heavy as I thought it was.” 

Hawke snorted. “Did I look like someone with a lot of money?” 

“No, but you were buying in Hightown, so you had to have something.” He shrugged. “I was wrong apparently.” Tarasyl started to turn to head back to Hightown. “Keep a hand on your stuff, shem. Not all thieves are as charming as me.” 

Hawke rolled his eyes, but Varric had an idea. That elf had been with the Warden through the Blight no less. Who better to bring to the Deep Roads than a veteran? He elbowed Hawke. “You know, Taliesin, he might be a good ally in the Deep Roads…if he keeps his hands to himself.” 

Hawke frowned, but even he couldn’t deny that. “Wait a minute. I could still have you arrested for thieving you know.” He called to the elf. Tarasyl’s back stiffened before he looked over his shoulder. 

“This is the part where you coerce me into doing something for you, right? Save it, shem, I’ve broken out of plenty of cells before.” He growled. He refused to be manipulated by anyone. Plus he had a job to do. He had to find him. 

“Well, then I guess you’ll just miss out on the profits, won’t you?” Varric cut in. Thieves usually only listened to one thing: coin. They were just as bad as mercenaries. Worse actually. Mercenaries were loyal so long as you had coin to pay them (good ones anyway); thieves might rob you blind at the drop of a hat or betray you to the highest bidder or both. 

That made the elf pause and turn. “Oh?” 

“See we are mounting an expedition into the Deep Roads and could always use another good scout. But you wouldn’t be interested in that, would you?” 

“Depends if you are going to pay me or not.” Tarasyl glared. “And there’s no old-friend-discount either.” He loathed the idea of going into the Deep Roads again, but Renassan had found some of the best things in those old thaigs. Things that sold for a lot of money. 

“Of course you’d have to agree not to pickpocket us or make off with things. We already have Isabella for that.” The dwarf smiled. Tarasyl shifted on his feet. He did like having money to spend. Especially if it meant he could stay out of the whorehouses. Plus he might be able to get more information if he cozied up to a human (as much as that thought made him want to vomit). 

“Fine. Deal.” Tarasyl growled. He turned back to continue his path. “You need me, I’ll be at the Blooming Rose.” Tarasyl hid his smirk. If rumors were true, that was Hawke and Hawke knew where Anders was. So that was easier than he thought. The sooner he found the wayward Warden, the sooner he could go back to wandering around. With that thought, Tarasyl'inan continued back up to Hightown. 

Taliesin looked down at the dwarf. “What did we just agree to let come with us?”

**Author's Note:**

> Any elvish used is either from the Canon or from Project Elvhen.
> 
> As always thanks for reading!!!


End file.
